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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336716">Atonement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird'>little0bird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars: Rebels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Atonement - Freeform, Kanan Jarrus (mentioned) - Freeform, Lasan, Lira San, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e15-16 Family Reunion – and Farewell, Rituals, kalluzeb - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:54:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexsandr Kallus performs an act of atonement on Lira San.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Atonement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘What’s that?’</p><p>Kallus couldn’t hit the switch on the datapad fast enough. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered, feeling his ears burn. Zeb plopped onto the overstuffed cushioned bench and plucked the datapad from his hands and tapped the screen with a finger. His ears flattened against the side of his skull as the words for the prayers of the ancient Lasan atonement ritual lit up the screen. Kallus took the datapad back with a sigh and set it in the charging cradle. After the first weeks of living in relative peace, the heady euphoria wore off enough for Kallus to start paying attention to the subtle snubs, the flattened ears and fur when he walked by in the markets, the hostile stares, the mothers dragging their kits back to their sides by the scruff of the neck when he came too close. The name Alexsandr Kallus was far from obscure. Anyone with a HoloNet connection and a decent datapad knew who he was. What his past contained. He’d finally approached Chava with a simple question: <em>What can I do?</em></p><p>Zeb ran his hand up Kallus’ back and into the hair that spilled over the collar of his shirt. Kallus leaned into the caress, then curled into a ball into Zeb’s side, burying his nose in the fur that peeked over the edge of Zeb’s jumpsuit. Zeb knew the ritual. It was brutal and physically demanding for a Lesat, let alone a human. Few Lasat even attempted it. It was, however, an expression of deep regret and remorse. Typically, one would perform the ritual in public so it might be witnessed by the community, but Zeb had done it in the wake of the destruction of Lasan, with no other Lasat present. It had felt hollow and unfinished, but it offered a small measure of comfort nonetheless in those weeks of mourning the loss of his people. He reached for one of Kallus’ hands, and then stilled. Each nail had been filed into a sharp point. Zeb grabbed the other hand, holding it up to the light. He tested the point of a fingernail. Not sharp enough to do damage to a Lasat, but sharp enough to break human skin. ‘Alexsandr…’</p><p>‘I have to do this,’ he murmured.</p><p>Zeb fixed his gaze on the opposite wall. ‘You could die,’ he stated flatly. The ritual began at sundown and lasted until the next sunset. Lira San’s heat during the day was nothing compared to the searing climate on Jakku — and he fervently hoped Ashla would be good enough to see he never had to set foot on that rotting sandpit again — but Kallus’ fair skin burned in prolonged exposure to the sun; furthermore, the ritual demanded he go without food, water, or any sort of respite or aid for its duration.</p><p>Kallus twisted to face his mate and brought Zeb’s head down to his, then tenderly rubbed one cheek, then other other against the sides of Zeb’s face. It was a wordless expression of love and respect Kallus often resorted to, because even now, saying the words proved difficult more often than not. Some Imperial habits were hard to break. He shifted so he straddled Zeb and pressed their foreheads together. ‘Hmm. The life of a single ex-ISB agent for millions of Lasat? I’m afraid the Lasat would receive the raw end of the deal, to quote General Calrissian.’</p><p>‘I can’t change yer mind, can I?’ The big Lasat drooped with dismay.</p><p>‘No.’</p><p>‘When are ya doin’ it?’</p><p>Kallus glanced out one of the windows. The sun had just begun to set, filling the room with light the same color as the grasslands of Lothal. It reflected off the dark gold of the okenla wooden beams on the walls, reminiscent of the light from the meteor from Bahryn. Good omens, in Kallus’ opinion. ’When the sun sets.’</p><p>‘Karabast,’ Zeb grumbled. ‘Ya shoulda tol’ me. I coulda helped…’</p><p>Kallus shook his head. ‘No. I have to do this on my own.’ He attempted a reassuring smile, but only managed a pained grimace. ‘After getting beaten and tortured by Thrawn, this will be easy.’ He hummed in pleasure as Zeb’s hands languidly stroked down his back. He felt the tension drain from his body. He slid one hand through the fur on Zeb’s neck and up to the base of one of his ears and began to lightly rub around it until a rumbling purr vibrated against his chest. Despite his gruff exterior, Zeb became distraught when his a member of his family had been hurt. One thing he wouldn’t do was deliberately cause Zeb undue pain. Never again. ’Perhaps you should stay here tomorrow while I’m…’</p><p>‘Like hell I will,’ Zeb growled. ‘’M not lettin’ ya face that alone.’</p><p>‘Very well.’ Kallus’s arms tightened around Zeb for just a moment. He held Zeb’s face between his hands. ‘Garazeb. I have never regretted a moment of my life since I crashed on that Ashla-forsaken moon of Geonosis with you.’ He pressed a kiss to the bridge of Zeb’s nose, then his wide mouth, and slid off his lap. Kallus strode to the door, picking up a basket Zeb hadn’t noticed before. He paused on the threshold and let a serene smile flash across his face. ‘Regardless of what may happen tomorrow, never forget I love you.’ The door slid open and he disappeared through it.</p><p>Kallus followed a rough path to a crystalline lake on the outer edges of the village and removed his sandals, then stripped out of his clothes. He rooted through the basket and unearthed a set of trimmers and lifted them to his face. No Lasat male performed the ritual with their facial hair. It only took a few strokes on each side to shave off his muttonchops. Kallus ran a hand over his face. He hadn’t had smooth cheeks since his Academy days. As he brushed stray hairs from his face, Kallus took a moment to be grateful he wasn’t required to shave every last bit of his body hair. He waded into the water, feeling the wet sand squelch between his toes. The water was surprisingly warm with the tang of some sort of mineral. It wasn’t unpleasant. Kallus lowered himself to his knees and scooped up a handful of water, pouring it over his bent head, murmuring prayers to Ashla in Lasan. Another handful of water, and then a third. He stood and waded further out into the lake, and ducked under the surface, ensuring every part of his body, including his hair, was submerged. Kallus bobbed to the surface, found the east, and chanted another prayer. He repeated the actions three more times, turning to face a different direction each time.</p><p>Night had fallen by the time he returned to the shore, and pulled on the loose trousers and robe of a penitent. Unlike the Lasat, he also donned a pair of snug undershorts, a hard-won concession granted from the other elders on account of his external genitalia. He finger-combed the wet hair back from his face and dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled from the lake to the center of the village, ignoring the stinging pain in his palms.</p><p>The sharp gravel gave way to warm stone, and Kallus stopped. He’d come to the western edge of the labyrinth where he would do his act of penance. A round mosaic of grassy hills marked his position. Each point contained a similar mosaic to mark the points. Earth for the West. Water for the East. Air in the North. Fire in the South. He would face the sun as it rose, and if everything went according to plan, he would end on the eastern side to face the sunset. He sat back on his haunches, balanced on his toes, and chanted another prayer, swaying back and forth with the rhythm of the language. He was meant to meditate this night. But Kallus had never been one to let his mind become motionless. <em>What was it Kanan said? </em>he mused. <em>Give yourself to the Force… </em>Kanan had said the Force lived in everything. And everyone. Kallus thought he must be right. How else to explain the way the Rebels so often averted disaster?</p><p>The pockets of his robes held four small vials of oils. He was meant to apply them to his body as the night wore on. Mild stimulants to keep his focus sharp and his mind clear. He pulled the first one out and removed the small cork. He dribbled it over his head, its sharp scent clearing his sinuses. Once the vial was empty, Kallus set it aside and rubbed the oil through his hair and over his face, paying special attention to his ears, as a Lasat would. He settled on the ground, lifting his face to the full moon, rising overhead.</p><p><em>Give yourself to the Force</em>, Kanan’s voice murmured in the back of his head.</p><p>And so he did.</p><p>Through the course of the night, Kallus remembered. He picked at old scabbed over memories acknowledging his complicity. They were wounds he doubted would ever heal completely. He couldn’t wholly blame the Empire or his Imperial training. As Zeb had said on Bahryn, all he ever had to do was ask questions. Ever since then, Kallus had asked himself the questions. But here on Lira San, he sifted deeper into the answers. Coruscant’s surface and lower levels were rife with escalating degrees of chaos, and even as a child, Kallus knew he couldn’t escape unless he threw himself into his education. Earning a place in the ISB gave him the order and structure he’d so craved in his childhood. Everything made sense.</p><p>Or so he thought.</p><p>Nothing made sense until he became Fulcrum.</p><p>It didn’t make up for nearly annihilating an entire world.</p><p>Still… Even the small victories the Rebels won gave him hope. It had been a foreign word on his tongue. Such a small word, but it held a galaxy of possibilities. Every time he passed on information, or threw a figurative wrench into the operations of the Empire, his heart skipped a beat. It was always for Garazeb.</p><p>His hand slid into the pocket and removed the next vial. He loosened the robes and poured the oil into his hands, slathering it over his torso. The pungent aroma made his eyes water. His pupils dilated until only a thin ring of hazel remained. He blinked and shook his head slightly. Everything seemed to glow with an otherworldly luminescence. Even his hands.</p><p>He’d long since admitted to himself he’d been unhappy as a cog of the Empire, but Imperial training had left him with no vocabulary with which to say it. Not until after he’d defected. He and Kanan had once imbibed some purple Corellian beverage that was more suited to paint thinner than consumption. They were both tipsy after two sips and thoroughly drunk after a single small glass. Kallus could vividly recall the scents and smells of the jungle on Yavin IV that night. The hard, damp stone of the temple. The slick sensation of the liquor as it burned a path to his gut. The tears that welled up when he described watching the T-7’s obliterate the Lasats where they stood. How it haunted his dreams for months — no, years — afterward. All the other atrocities he’d committed while striving to find a purpose to his life. That if he was the perfect Imperial agent, it would quell the confusion and self-hatred. It had only made it worse. Zeb and the other crew members of the <em>Ghost </em>had given him a second chance with his life, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Kanan insisted he had atoned for his past actions and owed no one in the Rebellion an apology. Besides, he was far from the only defector who had performed ruthless acts in the name of the Empire</p><p>The next vial held mere drops of oil. Thick and unguent, its scent was nearly lost under the fragrance of cooling grasslands, the warm stones under his body, the astringent odor of the two previous oils. He turned the vial over the fingers of his other hand and brought them to his chest. He massaged it just over his heart until it began to tingle with a pleasant warmth.</p><p>The Rebellion nearly consumed him whole. Analyzing the information Rogue One managed to obtain from Scarif at a great cost. A whispered suggestion to Hera for leadership to create a Rogue Squadron to honor the lives lost. Trying desperately to stay one step ahead of Darth Vader and the Imperial Navy. Too little sleep. Too much caf. Not enough food. If Zeb was out with the <em>Ghost</em>, Kallus kept himself buried in work, only eating and sleeping when his body threatened to give out. The last, crucial push at Endor. He’d passed out the moment the adrenaline of victory wore off and woke up two days later in a bed in the med bay with Zeb sprawled in a chair, feet propped up on a crate. The bloody Lasat could sleep anywhere.</p><p>The final vial also only had a few drops of oil. He smoothed it on the skin between his eyebrows.</p><p>
  <em>Garazeb…</em>
</p><p>He hadn’t meant to fall in love with Garazeb Orrelios.</p><p>The Empire couldn’t care less if he sought the company of other men for “recreational coupling.” Although the older he got, the less he desired finding his release with someone else. His hand worked just as well, and it was slightly less impersonal than the hasty assignations he usually had. And if he were alone, he didn’t have to worry if the name “Garazeb” happened to fall from his lips as he climaxed, writhing and gasping in his bed, fantasizing about the Lasat’s hands on his body.</p><p>Furthermore, the Empire viewed non-humans as lesser beings. Good enough to carry out the Empire’s dirty work and little else. Admitting he felt something for Zeb beyond friendship had been a hard pill to swallow, requiring him to dismantle nearly a lifetime of Imperial indoctrination. But the memory of the warmth of Zeb’s body on Bahryn, and their parting as comrades of a sort produced the first crack in the walls Kallus had built around himself. Ironic then, that he’d realized how deeply he loved Zeb in the Imperial complex on Lothal in the heart-stopping moment between turning on the power for the shield generator and seeing Zeb launch himself to safety.</p><p>Later, on the <em>Ghost</em>, he’d told Zeb in the only way he knew how. He’d ducked behind a stack of crates to change back into his Rebel uniform when Zeb rounded the corner, Kallus’ coat dangling from one hand. Zeb’s fur immediately fluffed with bashfulness at the sight of Kallus standing there, dressed in nothing but his undershorts. Before Zeb could back away, Kallus’ hand shot out and grasped Zeb’s. The Lasat came to a standstill, poised on his toes. Kallus immediately stepped forward, his bare skin brushing against Zeb’s fur. He stretched up just enough to rub one cheek against Zeb’s, then the other. Slowly, gently. Neither one willing to breathe. When Zeb only stared back in blank incomprehension, Kallus mumbled an apology and turned to put on his pants. Zeb’s hand closed around his wrist. Kallus found himself crushed against Zeb’s massive chest, Zeb’s mouth angled over his in a surprisingly soft kiss. Rex found them later, wrapped around one another, kissing and scenting one another like a couple of overeager adolescents. To his credit, the clone merely spun on a heel and muttered something about telling Hera they were busy.</p><p>Declaring one’s feelings in a war was a foolhardy idea. But if it wasn’t the right time tell someone how you felt, knowing they might not return from their next mission, when could you? He would rather do so, than live with the regret. He’d come so close to losing Zeb on Lothal. He didn’t want another day to pass without telling him.</p><p>Kallus slowly came back to himself. Birdsong filled his ears. The freshening breeze bought the whiff of dew-soaked vegetation from the forest. He let his eyes drift open. The sun peeped over the horizon, driving away the dark shadows of night. True to custom, he’d been left unmolested during his meditations, but as dawn approached, members of Lasan Honor Guard appeared through the mist to stand on the edges of the labyrinth. Chava warned him that no matter what the Honor Guard did to him, he couldn’t make a sound. He continued to chant quietly, squinting against the warm yellow sun.</p><p>Once it had risen fully, Kallus rose to his feet. He saw Zeb sitting in a pavilion with Chava and the other elders. Though it wasn’t part of the ritual, Kallus turned to Zeb and tucked a fist into his other hand, holding them at chest height. He bent his head in the traditional acknowledgement of a warrior. Zeb returned the gesture and Kallus grinned crookedly at him before turning back to he labyrinth. He unfastened the robes, letting them slide off his shoulders to puddle at his feet, and then did the same with the trousers and stepped out of them.</p><p>Kallus took a deep breath, then threw his head back and released a guttural howl, the cords of his neck straining. He lifted one hand and raked his nails over his chest, penetrating the skin much deeper than required. Blood welled up and began to trickle down the planes of his torso.</p><p>Zeb let out an anguished whimper, earning a rap on the knee from Chava’s staff. ‘This was his choice,’ she reminded him.</p><p>Zeb harrumphed. ‘Doesn’t mean I hafta like it.’</p><p>Chava poked him in the arm with much more force than one would imagine from one as old and frail as the elderly Lasat looked. ‘He will be be the Child, the Warrior, and the Fool in turns while he wrestles with his past deeds.’ She nodded toward Kallus. ‘In order to accept the forgiveness of others, he must come to accept forgiveness from himself.’</p><p>Zeb winced as Kallus used his other hand to slash across his chest once again. ‘Since when did Ashla demand we do ourselves harm to seek forgiveness?’</p><p>Chava’s snort would have sounded more appropriate coming from a Hutt. ‘Ashla does not. It comes from within.’</p><p>One of the guards crept toward Kallus, and Zeb was only slightly relieved to see he carried no visible weapons. Bo-rifles, knives, or blasters were expressly forbidden, but fists and claws were not. His ears flattened as the guard drew a meaty hand back and cuffed Kallus against the side of his head. Kallus stumbled a little, but quickly regained his balance. Another guard galloped in from the opposite side. His feet skidded on the stones, and one hand reached out, claws fully extended to graze across Kallus’ back. Kallus paused long enough to inhale sharply, but but carried on, Coruscanti-accented Lasan spilling from his mouth.</p><p>The elders murmured approvingly amongst themselves.</p><p>The proscribed movements carried him steadily to the northern point of the labyrinth. His face, back, shoulders, arms, and chest reddened under the unrelenting sun. Zeb could see the abrasions beginning to form on Kallus’ palms and knees. He could only wonder about his feet. Kallus dragged the nails of one hand down the opposite arm. Blood dripped between his fingers. Two more guards crossed the labyrinth, delivering glancing blows to his middle. Kallus overbalanced and landed hard on his back. He lay stunned on the flagstones for a moment, pushed himself up to sitting, then resumed his position, balanced on his toes. Zeb’s shoulders hunched in misery.</p><p>At some point between the northern and southern points of the labyrinth, Kallus’ voice gave out. And he still continued, the words of the prayers coming in a hoarse whisper. A young guard took advantage of Kallus’ wide-legged pose and slammed a foot directly into his crotch. Kallus fell to the stones, gurgling in agony, hands clasped over his cock and balls. Zeb didn’t think his ears could wilt against his head more than they did, but he was wrong. After several tense moments, Kallus dragged himself back into the proper position with a muffled groan.</p><p>Zeb wanted to look away, but he kept his gaze locked on the figure traversing the labyrinth. Guard after guard approached Kallus to deliver stinging blows to his body or slash his skin. Save for a handful of younger guards, most of them held back. They only meant to inflict pain, as custom demanded, not to maim. Kallus’ lips cracked and bled. His body began to tremble from exhaustion and dehydration, but he shuffled with relentless determination to the final point, the prayers and motions as perfect as Kallus could make them. Zeb noted with a pang that Kallus left smudged, bloody footprints in his wake.</p><p>At long last sun sank below the horizon. Kallus folded himself gingerly to the mosaic of a lake. It was done. If he had something, it ached. Even his hair hurt. He was sure his back and shoulders had blistered in the sun. His lips had chapped so badly he could barely form words without tasting blood. He was certain one of the guards had broken a couple of ribs, because it <em>hurt</em> to breathe. He’d scraped off the uppermost layers of skin on the palms of his hands, knees, and soles of his feet. How long he sat in the mosaic, he did not know. Long enough for the sun to set completely, because when he managed to open his swollen eyelids, the labyrinth was deserted and stars had begun to appear in the sky.</p><p>‘Alexsandr?’ Kallus clung to that voice. Equal measures of tender and gruff. The voice that told him he was safe. The voice that had taught him the words of love and hope. ’Alex?’</p><p>‘Garazeb…’ he rasped. His tongue felt thick and clumsy.</p><p>‘C’mon. Lemme help ya…’</p><p>Kallus’ head lolled on his shoulders. Oh, how he wanted to let Zeb scoop him up and carry him home. But that wasn’t the warrior way on Lira San. ‘No…’ He feebly pushed against Zeb, leaving a smear of blood on his mate’s purple fur. ‘Have to go home… on my own…’</p><p>‘Well, I’m walkin’ with ya.’</p><p>‘Couldn’t stop you if I wanted to.’ Kallus called upon every last bit of his Imperial training to push the pain from his consciousness. He gritted his teeth against the aching in his knees and feet and stood with a groan. He took one tentative step, then another, staggering from the labyrinth, his head down, filthy blonde hair straggling into his eyes.</p><p>Zeb followed him. They encountered no one else as they made their halting way through the village to the path that led to their home, then drew himself up short. Members of the guard lined the graveled path, standing at attention. He delicately touched Kallus’s hip, one of the few places that wasn’t scratched, burnt, or abraded due to his undershorts. ‘Alex… look…’</p><p>Kallus glanced up and came to a stuttering stop. One by one the guards lifted their hands pressed a fist into the opposite palm, and lowered their heads. He was dimly aware of Zeb returning the gesture while he forced his arms up and curled his hand into a loose fist, then laid his other hand over it, and lowered his head. The captain grunted with satisfaction, and with some unspoken signal, the guard melted away into the night.</p><p>Zeb couldn’t keep the smile from his face. It was sign of respect from the guard to Kallus. He nudged Kallus on the hip again. ‘C’mon, then. Let’s get ya home.’</p><p>Kallus gave him a short nod, then continued plodding to the house.</p><p>It only took a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.</p><p>Zeb opened the door, and Kallus limped into the house, then fell into Zeb’s waiting arms. He choked out a sob, too drained emotionally and physically to try and hold it back. Zeb merely picked him up, murmuring apologies in Basic and Lasan when Kallus arched away from letting his painfully burnt skin near Zeb’s fur with a pathetic whimper. Zeb marched straight into the ‘fresher. The shower cubicle had a wide seat along the back wall. It could hold their combined weight, as they’d discovered to their mutual delight. He stared at the various buttons. <em>Water or sonic?</em> Sonic would be faster, but water might be soothing. Kallus began to shiver. ‘Ahhh, kriff it,’ Zeb muttered, punching the button for sonic. The sooner Kallus was clean, the sooner he could tend to his injuries.</p><p>Within seconds, the dirt, dried blood, and snot were gone. Zeb eased Kallus to sit on the bench, then wriggled from the cubicle. He returned with a large box that he set on the floor. ‘If we had a bacta tank nearby, I’d dunk ya in it faster’n you could start to argue with me.’ Kallus huffed through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he could manage. Zeb removed the packaging from a bacta patch, his large fingers deft on the delicate patch. He sat back and frowned. ‘Where do I start?’</p><p>‘Doesn’t matter…’ Kallus croaked. ‘Just put it <em>somewhere</em>.’ He sniffed and tears trickled down his face.</p><p>Zeb wrapped it around one of his feet. In a matter of minutes, Kallus’ feet, hands, and knees were encased in bacta patches. Kallus hissed with relief as the bacta deadened the pain. ‘Sit still…’ Zeb removed the cap on a canister and began to spray a fine mist of bacta over Kallus’ exposed skin. ‘Better close yer mouth. This stuff don’t taste very good.’ He aimed the spray at Kallus’ face, gratified to see the redness begin to fade. ‘Can ya stand at all?’ Kallus nodded and shrugged. <em>I’ll try,</em> it said. He scooted to the edge of the bench and put a hand on Zeb’s shoulder to leverage himself to his feet. He shuffled awkwardly around, presenting his backside to Zeb. He was promptly coated in bacta from the nape of his neck to his ankles. Finally, Zeb wrapped a long bandage around his ribcage. ‘Oughta be back to normal in the morning. Or close to it.’</p><p>The all-encompassing physical pain faded. Kallus shuddered and his knees buckled. Zeb caught him before he could fall. He found himself whisked from the ‘fresher and tucked into bed, barely noticing the prick of a needle in his arm. He turned his head to see Zeb taping a tube to the crook of his elbow. <em>Fluids</em>, he thought blearily. Just as well. He couldn’t manage to actually drink a cup of water if he tried. The bed dipped, and Kallus was surrounded by more than one hundred kilograms of sympathetic Lasat. He rested his head on Zeb’s shoulder, and like he had during the previous night, gave himself to the Force.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just finished watching Rebels a few days ago and swore to myself I wasn't going to write Kalluzeb fic.  </p><p>I wrote a Kalluzeb fic...  </p><p>I started wondering what it might look like if Kallus felt compelled to perform a Lasan act of penance in order for the other Lasat to accept him.</p><p>Thanks for humouring my indulgence. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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